


What Makes a Dixon

by Lucifers_Trash_Stash



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Swearing, altering the canon, because I'm salty this didn't happen in the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifers_Trash_Stash/pseuds/Lucifers_Trash_Stash
Summary: While Daryl is stuck in his cell at Sanctuary, what if a familiar face appeared to him to give Daryl both the closure and motivation needed to make it out of Sanctuary while he also struggles with his past demons? Takes place in episode 7x07.





	

The same two long cracks in the concrete floor. The same dull and dirty brick pattern surrounding his field of vision. The sickening feeling of the mucked up sweats clinging against his skin, not having been allowed to wash since he arrived in this place. These were the only constants that Daryl had to expect in his cell.

It had come to the point where Daryl felt the desire to leave his body, as the feeling of being in his own skin was enough to make him disgusted with the state it had become. His hair, plastered to his face from all the grease and sweat, blocked most of his vision. He preferred not being able to see more than he had to in this place.

Blinking, he wrapped his arms around his body and set his head on his knees. Sitting in this cell reminded him of all the times he sat alone in his childhood bedroom, dreading when his father would return home drunk from the bar. Waiting for Dwight to take him out of his cell every morning was pretty similar. But at least Dwight didn’t drunkenly beat him, bruise him, cut him up. At least Dwight wasn’t kin because only a monster like his father would hurt their own flesh and blood.

A shudder traveled down his spine at the memory, and he shoved it from his mind. But it would come back soon. The demons of his past easily wriggled their way back into his brain and planted seeds of self-hatred whenever he let his guard down.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Daryl clenched his teeth as tightly as he could. If he focused on this, then the thoughts wouldn’t come back. The memories would leave him, he wouldn’t have to think of all the fuck ups he caused in his life, how he never made it in time to save anyone… Grunting, he pressed his head against the cool brick and tried not to remember… because remembering only leads to hurt, and he couldn’t live with the hurt anymore.

A soft, familiar chuckle entered his ears, freezing Daryl’s body in place. He knew that laugh even though it had been years since he’d heard it last. Daryl choked down the lump in his throat, slowly turning his head to look at the source of the noise.

There, leaning against the door, was Merle, arms crossed in front of him. He was wearing exactly what Daryl had last seen him in: cargo pants, a short sleeved navy blue button down, and a wife-beater underneath. He noticed that Merle was not only cleaner cut than he’d ever seen him before, but his right hand was a part of his body again. And his smile, that smile that made his eyes crinkle even when his grin wasn’t the kindest, that was still there too. But right now that smile seemed sad, a new emotion that he’d rarely seen on his brother.

“Yer in quite a pickle here, baby brother,” Merle said. “Been awhile, huh?”

Shaking his head, a choked sob left Daryl’s throat. This couldn’t be real, and yet he was here. He was another hallucination, just like before, back when Daryl was at Hershel’s farm. But he was so… so lifelike, standing just inches away from him.

Merle crouched down to Daryl’s level, nudging him slightly with his right hand. It felt as real as the wall Daryl was leaning against. Merle sighed before he drawled, “Aww, c’mon now brother, I don’t deserve yer tears.”

“You’re not real,” Daryl whispered. “My brother would call me a sissy for crying.”

Merle chuckled, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Maybe. And maybe I worked some things out on the other side. Ya can’t be sure, can ya?”

Daryl’s lip quivered, as he was trying his best to regain composure. He’d finally gone insane, he was sure of it. He watched as Merle shifted himself so he was sitting beside him.

“I know ya ain’t much of a talker, baby brother, so just listen,” Merle said, bringing his knees up to mimic Daryl’s position. “Ya been in this funk fer too goddamn long. Ya ain’t thinkin’ straight.”

“Really?” Daryl asked. “I’m talkin’ to the ghost of a dead man and you’re telling me I’m not thinkin’ straight?”

Merle chuckled. “Always critical of me. Suppose I shoulda listened to ya more. Maybe I’d have lived. Maybe I’d have punched that cocky sonuvabitch Negan myself. At least then I coulda taken yer place so ya wouldn’t have to feel so guilty over Glenn. Wouldn’t have been any skin off yer noses if they took me instead of you. Ol’ Merle’s used to takin’ the blame.”

“You remembered his name,” Daryl murmured.

“Of course I did.” Merle pointed to his head and grinned. “I mighta done a lotta drugs, but I wasn’t that fried up top.”

Daryl found himself smiling for the first time in a long while. Even if it was just his imagination, he found he needed this. He needed Merle. His brother wasn’t the textbook definition of perfect, far from it. He abandoned Daryl in that house, but once he left the military he took Daryl along wherever life took them. They stole, did drugs, the whole nine yards, and yet his brother was still there. Merle looked for him when he would disappear out of the blue, which was already more than their father ever did. The two were thick as thieves and stuck by each other when no one else would. That’s what brothers do.

“Anyways, enough chit-chat,” Merle said. “I came here to help ya get yer ass in gear. Ya ain’t some cowardly little church mouse. Ya been up to yer knees in a river of shit, and ya still been a badass the entire way through. Don’t show yer belly to those pricks. Show yer claws.”

“Easy for you to say,” Daryl snorted.

“Is it though?” Merle asked. “They ain’t gonna kill ya, they’re too busy toyin’ with ya. They don’t think you’ll do shit. Unless ya get caught doing a little hanky-panky with Negan’s wives, I doubt they’d try to kill ya. Hell, I’d take that chance if I was in yer position. One of ‘em has to be willin’ to step out on the prick.”

Merle winked and Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ya haven’t changed,” Daryl said. “You’d have been one handed with three fingers left on the other one, and you’d still be willing to take the iron just to get laid.”

“Hey, I didn’t get any after the walkers started up!” Merle laughed. “Can’t blame a starvin’ man fer wantin’ to eat. Now quit gettin’ me off track, I’m trying to be the wise older brother here!”

Daryl smiled as Merle’s hand found the back of Daryl’s neck and pulled him in until they were touching foreheads. “Now listen up little brother, I’m only gonna say this once 'cause I don’t know if I’ll get the chance again. Yer a survivor, ya always have been. Yer gonna get yer chance, and yer gonna get yer ass outta here. Fonzie, Freddy Krueger, and Pornstache out there ain’t gonna be able to stop ya.” Merle paused to laugh at his joke. “You’ll show 'em what a Dixon’s made of. Ain’t nobody fucks with a Dixon and gets away with it.”

Merle pulled back and ruffled Daryl’s hair with his hand. “And ya gotta promise me to get this shit taken care of once ya get out. If ya want to keep the girly locks, fine. But ya need some soap, it looks like ya rolled around in a lifetime supply of Crisco. And ya smell.”

Daryl sighed and swatted Merle’s hand away. Merle was about to speak again when there was a soft scrape by the door. Merle looked over and whistled, picking up a piece of paper with a key attached. He flipped it over to read it before handing it to Daryl. The note read “Go now.”

“Well I’ll be damned, looks like I was right,” Merle said.

“Who’s it from?” Daryl asked.

Merle shrugged his shoulders and smirked. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve been in here with ya the whole time.”

Daryl stared at the paper, his eyes scanning over every inch to see if he missed anything. His attention left the paper only when Merle lifted himself to his feet. He stood before him, arms stretched out expectantly.

“C'mon, give yer brother a goodbye hug. Gonna be a long time before I see ya again,” Merle said.

Losing the sluggishness that had plagued him since he’d arrived at Sanctuary, Daryl launched himself off of the floor and into Merle’s arms. Merle, not expecting the sudden impact, let out an “oomph” sound and gave Daryl a solid clap on the back. Daryl was finding himself choking up again, not being able to truly remember when the two of them had hugged like this, like they meant it.

Merle let out a deep sigh. “At the risk of soundin’ like a pansy, I gotta tell ya something. Ya can’t laugh,” Merle’s voice cracked slightly. “I love ya Daryl. I know I never told ya that enough and I’m sorry fer all the years ya had to put up with my ass.”

Daryl tightened his grip around his brother, the tears starting to flow freely now. “I love ya too Merle.”

Daryl could hear Merle sniffing back, trying his best to be the strong one. He never opened up after all those years, and Daryl wished that his brother hadn’t died before they could have this moment.

“I know ya do,” Merle said, moving his head closer to Daryl’s ear. “Just don’t blame yerself for our deaths. Not mine, not Glenn’s, and certainly not Beth’s. She hates seein’ ya eating yerself up over it. She cares a lot about ya, ya know.”

At the mention of her name, Daryl pulled back quickly to look Merle in the eye. To question him, to ask him what he knew about her. Was he really in contact with her after she…?

But the only thing that met Daryl’s gaze was an empty wall. He spun around, no sign of his brother anywhere. Daryl shook his head, his lips mouthing the word “no” over and over, but only silence came out. In frustration, he slammed his palms against the wall and groaned in anguish, cursing the fact that Merle was gone as quickly as he had arrived. He couldn’t leave, Daryl wasn’t ready for him to.

“One last thing baby brother,” Merle’s voice spoke in the empty room. Daryl leaned against the wall for support. “Once Officer Friendly and ya get that sonuvabitch backed into a corner, ya better give him one good crack in the skull with that bat fer me ‘till the candy falls out. Otherwise you’ll get a pissed off redneck hauntin’ yer asses fer the rest of yer lives.”

Merle’s chuckle was the last thing Daryl heard before the room was silent again. As usual, Merle left Daryl with more questions than answers. He was a whirlwind that often sent Daryl spinning before he could even register what had happened. He always made life interesting, to say the least.

Swallowing the lump down his throat, Daryl composed himself the best he could. He would make this count. He wouldn’t let them down. He was a Dixon and he’d show them what he was made of. He gripped the paper tightly in his hand and made his way to the door.

**Author's Note:**

> So this imagine came to mind when I was debating with a friend how I was a little annoyed that the trauma in Daryl’s past was pretty much glossed over (so far at least) in regards to being captive at Sanctuary. After watching through the older seasons for the first time I wondered what would happen if Daryl hallucinated his brother Merle in his cell like he did in season 2 when he needed his guidance. This is my first time writing for Daryl (and coincidentally Merle), and since I’m only caught up with seasons 1-3 and 7, hopefully I was able to write Daryl in a believable way.


End file.
